


One hundred and forty-three days

by queenpierrot



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Character Death, Depression, Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Suicide, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27710612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenpierrot/pseuds/queenpierrot
Summary: Will Graham wasn't coping well after slaying The Dragon.
Relationships: Molly Graham/Will Graham, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 17
Kudos: 60





	One hundred and forty-three days

They didn't hit the cliff on the way down, hitting the water below didn't kill them, and neither did slamming into the cliffside from the crashing waves-- though Will felt his shoulder shatter into a million pieces at the impact. When Will struggled to open his eyes next, he was laying on the cold sand of the beach, his entire body soaked and aching. He flipped over onto his side and vommited up seawater and bile, panting as he struggled to push himself up. The fire burning through his shoulder was unimaginable, which was quite something seeing how he had been stabbed twice and shot twice between the two shounders. As he stood he looked around, his stomache falling through the floor as he saw an unmoving mass in the distance in the sand. 

Hannibal. 

Will all but ran over to Hannibal's side, his body not having the energy for more than a jog if he was being honest with himself, and dropped to his knees. Hannibal was lying on his side, his face slack towards the sand. He wasn't bleeding out anymore. Will turned him onto his back and hovered his hand over his nose and mouth only to feel nothing. His eyes widened as his shakey hands went to check for a pulse and again, he felt nothing. Panic rang through him and he immediately started chest compressions. 

His shoulder was on fire with pain, and if he had been honest with himself he would have known that the shattered shoulder was impacting his ability to do the life-saving skill, but he kept going. He finished the thirty chest compressions finished, Will performed the standard two rescue breaths without hesitating before starting on another set of compressions. 

And another. 

And another. 

And another. 

Will was sobbing while starting his eleventh set of chest compressions when Jack and his team found them. Will didn't even know they were there, hadn't heard them at all, until Jack put his hand comfortingly but firm on his shoulder. 

"Will, stop." 

Will flinched at his voice, shivering "N-no, I can't, he'll die if I stop..." 

"Will, we've been watching you for over ten minutes now. I don't know how long you were going before that... But his brain has been without oxygen for at least ten minutes now, Will. Do you understand what I'm saying right now?" 

"No..." Will mummered quietly with tears going down his cheeks as he finished his last compression and went to go down for the rescue breaths again when Jack's grip on his shoulder tightened, stopping him. "No, no no no..." he said quietly as he leaned over the still body below him. 

"He's gone, Will." Jack said solemly, "You have to let the team do their part. And we have to get you in an ambulance." 

Will choked out a sob as a shaking hand cupped Hannibal's cheek, shaking his head. "It wasn't supposed to be like this..." he said quietly, so quietly Jack almost didn't hear him. 

After another couple minutes, Jack looked over to the EMT who had just arrived on site and nodded. The man came over and Jack took a step back, the man quietly telling Will he needed to go to the hospital. Will nodded numbly, and with the man's assistance stood and walked on shakey legs to the ambulance, where the man helped him onto the stretcher. 

Jack watched the ambulance leave quietly before looking back down to Hannibal's body on the ground. He was so relaxed, he almost looked as if he was sleeping. Jack sighed and shook his head, knowing no good was going to come even of this. 

When Will opened his eyes next, he was in the hospital. He was already stitched and bandaged up, and when he groaned at the metalic-sterile smell, Molly leaned into his vision. 

"Will, you're finally awake!" The sweet woman said as she fussed with the edge of his bedding. 

"Hi, Molly." He croaked out, his throat dry. "How long was I..?" 

"Two days. It's been two days since they found you on the beach."  
Will nodded and looked up to the ceiling 

It was two days since Hannibal died. 

Tears stung his eyes but he blinked them back and swallowed. Molly started talking about the dogs and work and how Wally was at her mom's. He barely heard her at all, like he was under water all over again. Will would occasionally make a grunt of acknowledgement, but other than that he couldn't bring himself to participate. 

It wasn't until Molly held his good hand that he looked at her again, "You must be tired... I'm going to go home to feed the dogs. I'll be back later, sweet man." 

"Bye Molly." He said quietly with a nod, which she mirrored before grabbing her purse and leaving. 

It was quiet for a few hours, the nurses eventually bringing him dinner which he couldn't bring himself to do more than push the food around the tray. Afterwards, he stared out the window into the darkening sky and eventually fell back asleep. 

The next morning brought Jack with a manilla envelope under his arm and a frown on his brow. "I need your statement of what happened, Will." 

So Will told him everything. 

How The Dragon had ambushed their envoy only to spare Will and Hannibal alone. How Hannibal drove them in the stolen police car to the house on the bluff. How they waited, almost casually, for The Dragon to appear. How The Dragon shot Hannibal through the window, saying he was going to record as he changed him. How Will went to get his gun only to be stabbed in the face and thrown through the window. How when The Dragon advanced on Will, and he stabbed The Dragon with the knife from his face only to be stabbed again in the chest. How Hannibal had lept onto The Dragon's back and tried to break his neck, only to get thrown off. How while The Dragon was distracted trying to strangle Hannibal, Will pulled the knife out of himself once more and stabbed The Dragon twice in the back before getting throw away again. How The Dragon kicked Hannibal into the pile of chopped wood, where Hannibal grabbed the hatchet he used to hack twice at The Dragon's legs. How Will stabbed The Dragon twice in the legs as well. 

How they paced around The Dragon before Hannibal lept on his back and ripped out his throat with his bare teeth as Will gutted him. How The Dragon fell, and Will went to Hannibal and they embraced. 

Only for Will to pull them off the cliff. 

Jack sat there in stunned silence for a pregnant moment, before looking to Will. "Why did you pull the both of you off that cliff, Will?" 

Will finally looked at him, "Are you asking as an FBI agent or as a friend?" 

Jack huffed at that, shaking his head and rubbing his face, "Nevermind. I don't want to know. We both know the outcome of that choice. The reason matters very little." He stood and sighed, looking back at Will again, "Molly is outside. Try to act like you want to see her." He said before leaving. 

Molly entered the room a minute or so afterwards. She was happy and talkative as ever, and he could barely stand it. She stayed for an hour or two before she had to leave for work, which came as a relief. 

At some point of the day, an attorney came to talk to him about Hannibal Lecter's estate, that Hannibal had left him an inheritance in his will. When Will asked when that had been put in place, the attorney told him it was about three and a half years ago... Just before they were supposed to run away together with Abigail. Will laughed bitterly. 

A day later he was released from the hospital, his left arm in a sling from the broken shounder as well as prescriptions for antibiotics and pain killers. Molly picked up his prescriptions on the way home and got him comfortable in bed before going back to work. 

He eventually found out that the news regarded him as a hero. The FBI agent, wounded in battle, who killed two serial killers. When he had read that they thought he had intentionally killed Hannibal, he had to rush to the kitchen sink to throw up. It was mostly bile and water, but he applauded his body's attempt at dramatics none the less. 

The next month went by as a blur. Every day, it felt like the color was drained out of the world around him. He could tell Molly was getting frustrated with his lack of participation in conversations and the way he pushed his food around his plate like a child. He wished he could bring himself to care that she was upset, but he didn't. 

He told her he'd come back different. 

He started drinking three days after he ran out of pain pills. It wasn't much at first, but it didn't stay that way. The first few nights it was only a few glasses of whiskey at night. Then it was a handful of glasses, before stumbling upstairs to bed. The hangovers were the worst, and when he could get away with it he'd put a half a shot of whiskey in his coffee. He started drinking earlier and earlier as the days passed. 

The first fight with Molly was on her day off, when he poured his first drink of the night at 2pm. Wally had quickly went up to his room when they started yelling. Molly eventually gathered him and shouted that she was going to her mother's until Will got his act together. 

Will drank more that night than he had any night previous, stopping only when he reached the bottom of an empty bottle. 

It was forty-six days since Hannibal died. 

Every couple of days, Molly would call to check in on the dogs and on Will. Will took care of the dogs, like he always did, but himself not so much. He was losing weight from the lack of eating over the past month. When he went to the liquor store to buy more whiskey, even the cashier asked if he was doing okay. 

He must really look like shit. 

It was two weeks since Molly left when she finally came home, only to find Will passed out and reeking of whiskey on the couch at one in the afternoon. There were empty bottles all over the livingroom. 

She shook Will gently on the hip, "Sweet man, please, you've got to stop this." 

Will opened his eyes groggily, looking to her for a moment before laughing quietly. "What does it matter anymore?" He said quietly. 

"What does it matter? What do you mean? We matter, sweet man. Your family matters." 

"My family's dead, Molly." He drunkenly mumbled out before passing back out again. 

Molly brought him the divorce papers almost a month later, citing mental illness as the grounds for fault. Will wasn't surprised in the least when she put them infront of him at breakfast one morning, sighing as he signed them. 

It was almost a relief, really. 

It was eighty-two days since Hannibal died. 

Will stayed at a hotel for half a week before buying a new house. It was a small, one bedroom house in the middle of nowhere. He didn't need much. Just something for him and his dogs. 

Somehow Alana had heard about his divorce and started visiting him. He hated when she did. Her eyes were always full of pity. He knew his hair was getting too long and was unwashed, he knew he was in yesterday's clothes, he knew he had lost at least twenty pounds since the fall, he knew his hands shook when he didn't have whiskey in his system (though whether that was from his sober, racing thoughts or from alcohol withdrawal, he wasn't sure). 

He still occasionally forced himself to eat. He still took care of his dogs. He hadn't died from alcohol poisoning, yet. 

"You should see someone, Will. For grief counseling." She said to him softly one day as they sat on his couch awkwardly. 

"No more psychiatrists. I'm done with letting people inside my head, Alana." 

"Hannibal wouldn't want you wasting your life away like this." She insisted, looking to him hesitantly. 

Will rubbed his face and poured another two fingers of whiskey, "The funny thing about him being dead is that he isn't here to care." He threw back the whiskey and looked to her, "Goodbye, Alana." 

She sighed and left, turning to look back at him from the doorway before she went. 

Three weeks passed before Jack showed up on his door. Will barely stumbled to it to answer, if he was being honest with himself. Jack took one look at him and shook his head. 

"Nevermind. I was going to ask for your help on a case, but clearly, coming today was a waste of my time." The man said before turning and leaving. 

Will dropped to his knees by the door and leaned on its frame, his whole world spinning. Winston licked his face, so he pet him gently. 

It was one hundred and forty-one days since Hannibal died. 

Three days later when Alana next visited, the dogs were barking more than usual. She knocked on the door for a few minutes, before looking at Will's car in concern before letting herself in. 

She might have believed for a moment that Will could have been sleeping there on the couch, laying on his side with his knees curled up tight and his arms under his head, if it weren't for the multiple packs of Nyquil and bottle of alcohol infront of him on the table. 

Alana shouted his name as she ran to his side to shake him, but the moment she touched him she froze. He was already cold. 

She called the police first to report finding a body, before calling Margot while in tears. 

He had died one hundred and forty-three days after Hannibal died.


End file.
